All About B.A.D. (12 page)

Five memories were added into the jar. The first was a snapshot which had been duplicated on the newspaper copier machine. The result was a black and white image of what must have been a spectacular display of colors on a large café window: whimsical, expressive, a wordless telling of a curious tale. It had been neatly trimmed, labeled and gingerly placed inside a pink envelope before inserted alongside the Big Chief tablet scrap. The second addition had been similarly copied. The quality of the 20-lb. paper took little away from its impressive message: “Watercolor by Bernadette Ann Donahue, Artist in Residence, Bertan’s Gallery, Galveston, Texas.” The third was an impersonation of a birth announcement produced on
The Voice’s
new computer in bold, red script: 

        
Joshua Conner Donahue

                   February 14

      eight pounds, eighteen inches long

      born to Bernadette Ann Donahue

                 Galveston, Texas

Lilly had used the heaviest cardstock she could find and, thanks to Bertha’s pinking shears, had given the index-sized card a zigzagged edge. Each item was read and re-read before nestled in with a fourth. 

“We are pleased to announce…” It was a simple common greeting with momentous implications. “We are pleased to announce (fill in name here) has been awarded a scholarship (minus cost of textbooks) to attend (fill in name of college here).” She had been thrilled to fill in the blanks! Another addition would soon crowd the contents of the treasure trove.

“Miss Lilly Beth Pease is a recipient of the Reese’s Awards for Promising Young Journalists…” The letter was accompanied by an invitation to travel to Atlanta for a series of lectures presented by prestigious writers from across the United States. Her hotel room, some meals and workshop fees would be covered; other meals and transportation to and from would be the recipient’s responsibility. Smiles and tears in the same breath. She remembered reading it several times before leaving it on the counter. Lilly’s idea of luxury was not taking a lunch with her every day. She was far removed from affording transportation, meals and any additions to a well-worn wardrobe to an out-of-state conference. Being aware of fashion and able to afford it were canyons apart in her world. Her meager earnings were to cover the “minus the cost of textbooks ” clause in the scholarship; anything leftover she gave to Bertha. 

Lilly hadn’t regretted or considered any changes in her financial choices until the letter came. Then, it was bittersweet. How badly did she wish to go? Wasn’t that the real question? The answer quickly formed in her mind; resolve followed when the timing was right.

Azalea bushes splashed life across the broad expanse of yard which stopped at the wraparound porch moored by several white rockers. A walkway dotted with Louisiana irises, their yellow heads standing at attention, ended at steps punctuated by clay pots of strawberry begonias. The fragrances of gardenia and sweet alyssum competed with honeysuckle dangling from trellises stationed at the corners of the wide veranda. Like the house itself, the effect was comforting in its appeal and striking in its beauty.

Outside the grand old lady was all lace and curlicues. Inside she was glass and sparkle. The juxtaposition mesmerized those meandering through the gallery.

Payne enjoyed strolling up to the house, breathing in salty air mingled with floral scents, climbing the steps and opening the large front doors. After the House of Many Colors, it was her second favorite house on the island. It eased the feelings of moving Bernadette and Conner inside. 

The transition itself required little effort. Except for the clothes and items given to Conner, little had been added to Bernadette’s possessions. Folks had been generous, but practical. Life’s struggle was lessened by their generosity and the baby’s good health. Bernadette, poor in possessions, felt exceedingly blessed the day she, Payne and Josh carried her meager accumulation into the Bertans’ house. 

The second floor of the Victorian mansion had been completely renovated. It was divided into two separate living areas. Each apartment extended from the front of the house to the back with windows facing the Gulf of Mexico on one end and a view of the expansive backyard—flanked by oleanders all around—in the rear. Simple draperies and valences framed tall windows, guaranteeing a constant flow of light. The large rooms, which smelled of fresh paint and oiled wood, felt bright and airy. Nine-foot ceilings stretched up from wooden floors which had been painstakingly restored to their original splendor. Patches of thick rugs occasionally offered soft oases underfoot, their colors repeating ones seen in comfy sofas and chairs. The casual furnishings—a mix of old and new—added warmth to a room that begged for company. From the smallest desk accessory to titles of books on shelves, Mattie Bertan’s touch and attention to detail were everywhere.

The studio occupied a portion of downstairs. While only half the size of the upstairs apartment, it was an open invitation for creativity. Both Josh and Bernadette commented on the natural light and room arrangement—its pristine cleanliness. The sad necessity was that the latter would quickly disappear under splashes of paint and dribbles from brushes.

The Bertans had thought of everything, including a nanny for Conner. Tom and Mattie brought by a key, a check and detailed instructions. Their visit was brief and to the point. Bernadette expected excitement, a sense of accomplishment from such master planners. Instead, empty faces greeted the trio of movers. It was disconcerting and left them thinking of possible reasons for such a lack of emotion. Wanda was the first to offer insight after they had driven away from the beauty they had so carefully constructed.

“These folks enjoy the idea of something, putting it in place. Wonder how good they are in the long haul?”

The question hit the target.

The move completed, the time for adjusting to a new life began. It proved more difficult than imagined. The light-filled spaces, once a source of excitement, created a feeling of hugeness compared to the cozy space at Wanda’s. And without her nearby, the rooms felt empty and sterile. BAD and Conner rattled around the apartment in stretched-out, too-quiet nights. The days were busier, easier. Bernadette insisted on bathing and dressing her son before the nanny, Isabella, arrived in the morning. She didn’t enjoy handing her baby boy over to the arms of the young woman. Most days he stayed in a playpen in the studio with both women watching and listening for a stir or whimper. 

Along with hiring Isabella, Mattie Bertan put her nephew, Todd, in charge of the gift shop at the front of the house. While pleasant enough to the customers, he had little interest in the Artist in Residence and her young son. As someone always in transition, he had no reason to get to know the person with whom he shared a common space. Their conversations were limited to the usual, expected pleasantries and the needed exchanges of business. Surrounded by others, Bernadette felt herself fighting isolation. 

The retail area was a short hallway from the framed opening to the studio. Snatches of conversation drifted in and out of the connecting spaces. Bernadette and Isabella welcomed these little interruptions. One used them to stave off feelings of aloneness while the other saw them as an opportunity to shore up her shaky English. Isabella was a quick study in both language and art. She admired Bernadette’s concentration and her continuous struggle for perfection. Drawing, erasing, shading, redrawing—indefectibility her goal. No color touched down onto the thick white paper until it had been considered from endless points of view.

Bernadette appreciated Isabella’s care for Conner and her ease in handling him. His cries and displays of temper didn’t rattle the young woman. Her affection for him was obvious. Slowly, a rapport—undergirded by need and support—developed between the two women. With trust came more relinquishing of care and a more relaxed atmosphere. When Conner fretted, Isabella would patter around upstairs with him or take him for long strolls outside. When Isabella wanted to test her command of new words and sentences, Bernadette offered encouragement without criticism. A pattern of life evolved.

Spring melted into summer, bringing a tide of temporary inhabitants dressed in splashy colors and coastal images. The tempo of island life increased as they swarmed ashore, filling beaches, summer homes, restaurants and shops. After a languid rhythm in the fall and winter, the quickening pace was jarring. Daily visits with Wanda and Josh faded into weekly ones, and Bernadette’s visit to Lone Grove was put on hold. 

Bertan’s Gallery, with its cool, welcoming appeal and its rooms packed with visual treats, stayed filled with the curious, most of whom were looking for cheap souvenirs. Mattie Bertan’s interest waned in the gallery’s operation as she was forced to replace handmade paper and hand-blown glass with less expensive versions. She asked Bernadette to reduce the dimensions of her watercolors to a more “sellable” size and to concentrate on subjects favored by tourists. Paintings of palm-strewn beaches, crashing waves, seagulls acting as sentries on old wharf posts, terns, frigates and other pelagic birds were the result. All of these scaled-down originals were strategically displayed in the gift shop. Mattie’s lessened attention translated into Todd’s regular disappearances. The Artist in Residence received a hasty business education as roles shifted and carefully laid-out rules were broken. At the beginning of the month, Bernadette would find a small bonus included with her stipend for the times when Todd simply hadn’t appeared to open or close the shop.

Walking up the stairs at night with Conner, her body wracked with fatigue, a myriad of details clouding her mind, Bernadette stepped into her most cherished role. She rocked her baby and cradled her dreams.

On as many Sundays as she could manage, she met Payne and Josh; it kept her grounded. She didn’t know who of the three most looked forward to these outings. Sometimes they picnicked outside the House of Many Colors, sharing the week’s news. Some Sundays would find them in the edge of the surf on the island’s west end, holding Conner, watching his nose wrinkle each time the space between his toes filled with sand or when brown water lapped at his chubby knees. Occasionally they would take a day trip to Houston or ride the ferry across to Bolivar. In appearance, they could have been one of the hundreds of families enjoying an afternoon outing.

Midsummer, Mattie announced she was bringing in a full-time manager and embarking on a new project in Dallas. Bernadette and Isabella could stay until the end of September when Isabella’s salary and Bernadette’s rent-free living and stipend would end. Money from commissioned pieces would be paid to Bernadette by the new manager. In the fall, the Bertans would consider selling the gallery or offering new commercial options for the entire property. As a peace offering, the watercolor of the manse was returned to the gallery and given back to the one who created it. “Victorian Lady” had been their introduction to Bernadette, and it would be their goodbye. Tom and Mattie Bertan, excited about their newest quest, exited her life as quickly as they had entered it. Bernadette was to tell Isabella and “work out other details” with the person coming onboard.

Arthur Fetters was an older man with an insignificant career and a haughty attitude—a leftover from other Bertan ventures. It was soon apparent that he didn’t care for the young woman who attracted attention he thought he deserved and who was talented beyond his scope, nor for the baby he considered a distraction. He had nothing to learn from her. Conner was invited to stay in the studio only when asleep; otherwise, Isabella was to have him out of sight. Arthur had two purposes in the Bertan Gallery: to eek from it every cent possible and to exercise his managerial position over the three people under his control. Bernadette barely disguised her dislike for him and Isabella began looking for other employment.

Before, the second upstairs apartment had remained empty, always available for the Bertans and their guests. Seizing an opportunity, Arthur advertised it as a summer rental, “for a day or a week”. A stream of tourists trooped in and out, leaving a discomforting feeling and a trail of rental fees that rarely appeared on the gallery’s ledger. Sandy feet scratched the floors. Noisy televisions echoed through the halls. Voices carried down the stairs, sometimes laughter, sometimes arguments. Trash piled up from guests expecting hotel treatment. Isabella was told her role was expanded to include janitorial duties with no increase in salary. Bernadette voiced her objections only to be told it wasn’t her concern. She was certain Arthur pocketed the money. 

The September deadline, cause of panic in the beginning, now couldn’t come too quickly.

“Bernadette, disappointments keep the walls of reality firmly in place.” Payne’s words finally had meaning for the young woman who was struggling to hold on.

At first, there were only flashes of discomfort shadowed by painful twinges. Increasing in number, they gradually connected, disrupting her thoughts and breaking her composure. After eating only a little, she felt full. Seeping into every pore was a bone-tiredness, robbing her of her usual bounce and limitless energy. Hers had always been a filled-out figure within a solid frame. Lately, however, her slacks seemed a little loose. The skin around her stomach, under her neck and arms, sagged a bit. Never one to run to the doctor for every little ache, even she was surprised to learn how long it had been since her last checkup. She made an appointment at the island’s medical center.

What followed her initial visit was fatigue beyond comprehension. Everything about her was examined, poked or prodded. She had her first X-ray and learned about endoscopes and biopsies. Then came the hardest part for Wanda Payne: waiting for the results.

The three of them sat near the line of surf watching large waves crash into smaller ones and ending in ripples that flirted with their feet and toes. It was late and the beach seemed unusually quiet. Still, she had to repeat it twice to be heard.

“I have cancer.”

“What? Wanda, what did you say?” 

Conner wiggled to get out of his mother’s arms and into those of the woman whose voice was barely audible.

“Stomach cancer. Me, the woman who loves to eat, the one who was always first to the table with her fork and spoon. Now I have to be reminded. They say I need the calories, the energy. Can you imagine? Wanda Payne being told to eat. Never thought I’d hear that.”

A tight pull on the muscles around her face spread throughout Bernadette’s body, making it difficult to speak or move. She caught her breath and looked through clouded eyes at the woman kissing her baby’s cheeks. Her words, once out, sounded more accusatory than comforting.

“You’re never sick. You never said anything about feeling sick. How long have you known? What did they say about it?”

“I figured it was just a byproduct of getting older and all the stuff I ate during tourist season. You know, don’t serve what you won’t eat yourself. They think they caught it pretty early. I may get off with some surgery and radiation, a little chemo. I go back in a couple of weeks.”

Words piling around her, Bernadette found herself struggling to understand their meaning, willing them away, erasing their reality.

“What can I do, Wanda? Have you told Josh?”

“Nothing except maybe a little praying and a whole lot of sharing our Conner.” She snuggled him closer, gathering strength from his struggling arms. “Yes, I told Josh a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t take it so well. Got all quiet like he does sometimes.”

Bernadette had chalked Josh’s disappearance up to long work hours and his occasional need to be alone. She hadn’t questioned his absences.

Wanda’s words tiptoed out without worry or pity, the result of fiercely believing that a good plan in place could always restore order.

“The new guy in Mom’s trailer is a nice person and a good student. He’ll help with the driving back and forth in exchange for any kind of rent. He may get more than he bargained for. And the gals in the café have been looking for a reason to run the place for years. They’ll see it isn’t a piece of cake. My big worry is paying the medical bills. A few years after my stay in the shelter, I took out an insurance policy. We’ll see how good an idea that was.”

Wanda rattled off a laundry list of action while Bernadette sat numbed. She reached toward her friend and put an arm around her shoulders. They sat quietly, huddling at the edge of the cloudy water. 

“I will be with you, Wanda Payne. I won’t leave.”

“I know, BAD. I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Josh’s love for Wanda was different from that of the women in the painting in his studio, but it was full and real and the idea of losing it threatened to pull him back into places he feared, had battled to escape. Crawling out of the bottle once, it wasn’t a fight he wished to repeat. When Josh wasn’t working, he walked the island and fought to keep what little control he could muster.